


Under A Blood-Red Sky

by the_technicolor_whiscash



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: Angst, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Gunshots, Kissing, M/M, More Crying, an awful lot of crying, and hugging, and more crying, dont worry he comes back, of sorts, ressurection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 14:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10362723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_technicolor_whiscash/pseuds/the_technicolor_whiscash
Summary: Nick Carraway is emotionally crushed when Jay Gatsby is suddenly shot and killed. But as he mourns the loss of his best friend and the man he loved, he realizes that not all hope is lost.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have a life I swear

I heard the shots through the phone. Two sharp, unmistakable gunshots. Immediately, fear and terror coursed through my heart, and I yelled through the phone, but no one answered. I quickly slammed the phone on the receiver and dashed out of my house and up the path to Gatsby’s massive mansion. And when I ran around the back, I saw them. The body of Mr. Wilson, a gunshot through his skull, and Gatsby. Floating lifelessly in the pool, his blood saturating the water with a deep red.   
“NO!” I yelled, dashing towards the pool. One of Gatsby’s servants ran up to me and held me back, preventing me from leaping in. I felt tears beginning to leak from my eyes. “Jay! Jay, no!”  
The servant holding me gave a great sigh. “I’m sorry. We’ve called the police…”  
But I was beyond consoling. I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest. Gatsby was everything to me. He was my sun, my stars. Gatsby was my best friend, and I would have done anything for him. He had such hope, such optimism for the future and for life. And for that, I found myself becoming more and more invested in his life. And eventually, I found myself falling in love with him. I never told him, which was my greatest mistake. I don't know if he ever felt anything for me. I knew he liked me as a friend, sure, but he never truly hinted at anything more. I think there was once, when I was drunk off my ass and I accidentally kissed him, but that might have been a dream.   
The next few days were a blur. Police came and went, but it was painfully obvious that it was Wilson. People in the newspapers blamed Gatsby for the affair with Myrtle and her subsequent death, and I wasn't able to reach Daisy to tell her about the whole situation.   
I stayed in Gatsby’s mansion throughout the whole ordeal. I organized his funeral and attempted to contact people who might have wanted to come. But I realized something. Gatsby, though he held wild and fantastic parties, had no true friends. I was the only person who still cared for him. And god, did that hurt.   
His casket rested at the foot of a large, majestic spiral staircase within his mansion. I surrounded it with hundreds of flowers of all sizes and colors, trying to make the room seem less sad. And I was mostly able to contain my tears. But not always. There were moments where I felt like the light had left my life. Other moments where I wanted to die. But I stayed by his side. I knew he would have wanted me to be there, would have wanted me to keep an eye on him through the whole ordeal. Daisy was his lover, but I was his friend. And I loved him more than Daisy ever had.   
I stood over his casket the day before he was to be buried. He looked calm and peaceful. People always say the dead look like they're asleep, but that's not really the case. You can tell when someone’s dead. But the dead always look like they're at peace. They're free from the pain and fear and terror of the world. And for Gatsby, this was especially true. He died still having hope for the future.   
I began to feel tears welling in my eyes again. I tried to keep myself together, but I simply couldn't. Gatsby, the man I looked up to so much, the man I loved, was dead, and only I would be at his funeral. Tears rolled down my face, crashing onto Gatsby’s immaculate white suit like raindrops on a still pond.   
“Dammit, Jay.” I sobbed. “Why did you have to do this?”  
Naturally, he didn't respond. I wouldn't say it made me angry, necessarily, but I found myself feeling hurt. He shouldn't have been so damn selfish, shouldn't have allowed himself to get so involved with Daisy. There was so many things he shouldn't have done. But I couldn't bring myself to be mad at him.   
Hesitantly, I placed my hand over his. His skin was cold, and sent a shiver through me. “God, Jay. I loved you, you know? I loved you, Jay.”  
I gripped his hand tighter, staring at his beautiful face through tear-filled eyes. I wished I had told him how I felt earlier. I should have. But I didn't, and now I'd have to suffer the consequences.   
Finally, in one last-ditch effort to show him how I felt, I leaned into the casket and kissed him on the lips. It was a sloppy kiss, filled with tears, but a kiss nonetheless. After a second or two, I leaned back and ran a sleeve across my eyes, mopping up my tears.   
Suddenly, I heard a gasp from the casket. I passed it off as my imagination, keeping my arm over my eyes. I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself down.   
“Nick?” A voice spoke, prompting me to remove my arm.   
My eyes widened. Gatsby was sitting up within the casket, looking just as alive as he had been a few days ago.   
I took a step back. I… must've been imagining. Right?   
Gatsby ran a hand through his hair. “You wouldn't happen to know how I got here, would you, old sport? I remember getting shot, and then everything going black, and I woke up here.”  
“Jay…” I started, unable to rip my eyes away. “You… You were dead.”  
He reached a hand up and felt his pulse. “Well, I’m definitely alive now, old sport.”   
“So… you don't remember anything? From when you were dead?” I hoped he didn't remember me kissing him. Or professing my love to him. Or crying all over his suit.   
“Unfortunately, no.” He gave a slight smile. “Why do you ask?”  
I felt my cheeks turning red. “Just curious.”  
“Would you mind helping me out of here, old sport?” He said. “As comfortable as it is, sitting in a coffin.”  
I helped him out of the coffin and he shakily stood on the floor. I suppose being dead isn't great for your circulation.   
“Thank you, Nick.” He said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. That was odd. He usually called me ‘old sport,’ as he calls everyone old sport. It was nice, though. “Where’s Daisy?”  
Ah, yes. The unavoidable question. I couldn't hide the answer from him forever. “She’s gone, Jay. She left with Tom the day you… died.”  
His face fell, and he sighed. “I thought this might happen. I don't know if she ever truly loved me.”  
“I’m sure she did, Jay.” I said. I smiled, and my voice got quiet. “It’s hard not to.”  
He gave me one of his sincere smiles, one that made me fall in love with him even more. “Thank you.”  
I felt a lump in my throat. He had been dead only minutes before, but now he was alive, and smiling at me in a way only he could. I felt my eyes welling up again, and I looked away from him.   
“Are you alright, old sport? What's wrong?” He said, his voice sounding concerned.   
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. It did not work. “You were… you died!” I spun around and looked him in his gorgeous blue eyes. “You were dead! I saw you face down, bleeding into the swimming pool!” My voice cracked. “Do you know how hard it’s been? You’re my best friend, Jay, and I love you!”   
Gatsby gave me a compassionate look. I hoped that he thought I loved him in a more platonic way. “It’s alright, Nick. I’m here now.”  
I pulled out a handkerchief and began to dab away my tears. “I’m sorry. I’m just… I felt hurt, Jay.” I shook my head. “I never realized how lonely you must be.”  
“Lonely?” Gatsby gave a slight chuckle. “I know I don't have many friends. But I’m never truly lonely. Not when I have you, old sport.”  
I felt myself begin to blush again. “You flatter me.”   
“I’m serious, Nick.” He put his hand on my shoulder again. “You’re the best friend I've ever had.”  
Without thinking, I threw my arms around him and nestled my face into his shoulder. It wasn't my most flattering moment, but I couldn't help myself. I began full-out sobbing, totally throwing all caution into the wind.   
“Shh. It’s alright. I’m here.” He said, carding his fingers through my hair. “I’m here, Nick. Don't worry.”  
I gripped him tightly. Something within me feared this was all a dream, and he could just slip away within seconds. “I love you, Jay.”   
“I know you do, Nick.” He took a deep breath. “I know you do.”  
I pulled away from him just enough to look him in his sparkling sapphire eyes. “I mean it, Jay. I love you. I love you more than anyone I've ever loved before.”  
He caressed my cheek with his hand. “I know.” He leaned closer to me and pressed his forehead against mine. “I love you too.”   
Slowly, carefully, he pressed a kiss to my lips. It sent sparks through me, but I could tell he was hesitating. It ended far too soon.   
Then, a thought struck me. “What about Daisy? I thought you were in love with her?”  
Gatsby ran his fingers through my hair. “Maybe I was five years ago. But not anymore. It was a ruse, a ploy to be able to spend more time with you. I think she knew that by the end.”  
“But why me? I’m not rich, or famous, or even remotely popular.” I asked.   
“Because, old sport.” He gave me his jaw-dropping smile. “You’re the first person I've met who sees me for me, and not just a name. You don't care about riches, or social status. You care about who someone is as a person.” He chuckled. “You're easy on the eyes, too.”  
I smiled and pressed my forehead to his, closing my eyes. “I love you so much.”  
His hand ran through my hair again. God, I loved the way it felt when he did that. “And I love you.”   
I pressed my lips against his, leaning into him. This time, there was no hesitation. I couldn't help but moan as I felt his strong hands on my back, gripping the fabric of my shirt. He kissed like someone who hadn't been kissed in too long, a kiss filled with a mix of love and yearning.   
When we finally pulled apart, we stood there for a moment in silence. I didn't really see the need to talk. Kissing said everything I could ever want to say.   
“I love you, Jay.” I said, after a minute or so.   
“And I love you, Nick.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I never explicitly say how Gatsby comes back to life  
> And frankly I didn't really think that part through  
> Assume it's like a whole sort of sleeping beauty sort of thing where true love's kiss awakens you from a deathlike sleep  
> Except instead of sleeping he was actually dead


End file.
